A Step in the Right Direction
by pintoxpony
Summary: [Post Finding Judas] House's scathing remark sends Cuddy reeling. But who's to say the disease can't be the cure? [HouseCuddy] [RomanceAngstDrama] [OneShot]


**A Step In The Right Direction**

**A/N** This is just something that came to me as I was surfing through songs on my iPod. It is set to the song Can't Not, by Alanis Morissette. If you want to download it, the song is on the CD Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. This is my third House fan fic., so please no flames. Constructive critiscism (sp?) is welcomed warmly, as well as helpful kudos. The song is from the POV of Cuddy, but the story is split POV's.

Post **Finding Judas**. House's scathing remark suddenly sends Cuddy's world spinning, and everything seems to topple down at the same time. Of course, who's to say the disease can't be the cure? Cuddy's having doubts and fears, and House is going to have to work hard to help her out of the dark torrent. HouseCuddy **romance**angst**drama**

---

**I'd be lying if I said I was completely unscathed.  
****I might be proving you right with my silence or my retaliation.  
****Would I be letting you win in my non-reaction?**

The silence would have proved deafening to any other than Lisa Cuddy, but she could still hear the spray of the water overhead and the fitful breathing of the small child cradled in her arms. And the words; oh, God, the words haunted her even hours after. Even after her wet locks had dried and been pulled back into a loose and uncaring ponytail and her scrubs had been discarded for the more comfortable attire of a denim mini-skirt and a red, low-cut blouse. She had no donors to impress with her so-called professionalism and unappealing grandma-wear, and right now she felt so restricted that she'd rather be running naked in the streets of New Jersey than suited up and dolled into one of the tight, form-fitting power-suits and painful Prada heels of her normal attire.

Even now as she sat on the comfortingly familiar leather of the couch in her office, Kleenex in hand and black streams of mascara criss-crossing her flushed cheeks, she couldn't help but wonder; was he right? And she couldn't help but grant him entry to the confines of her supposed far-out, wicked mind. Oh, the very thought that he could know her like that, could pierce her and make her break down and bleed at will was enough to drive her insane. She had fought it at first, fought off the rising suspicion that maybe he actually _wanted_ to hurt her; wanted to make her suffer and know what it felt like to be violated as she had violated him so many years ago when she had explained the middle ground to Stacy. But now she knew, she couldn't deny it even though it killed her inside; he reveled in her pain. She wished she could say the same, but she still pitied him and still felt guilt-ridden and still, though she would deny it to the bitter end, hated the reflection looking back at her whenever she peered into the mirror.

And then, right at that moment, she wished she didn't care. She wished that she had never tried to get pregnant, that he had never gotten into her locked office that one day and caught her red-handed with the box of Red Clover. Wished that she had never invited Wilson out to dinner or that he had never accepted. Wished that she could just be the Dean of Medicine and stop being a woman. But she couldn't; she was both, she had decided that for herself. Had she started this? Was it her fault she was sitting here, pathetic and vulnerable? Yes. It was nobody else's fault but her own. She had known that the sacrifice of being number one, of being on top, was great. It had sliced a hole in her heart like no one could imagine. And then she thought; _good. Good that I didn't get pregnant. Good that I'm suffering. Good that I feel violated. Because I deserve it._ She had wanted a child for all the wrong reasons. She wanted that meek little voice to call out "Mommy!" in the middle of the night, not because she wanted to comfort, but because she wanted to be needed for, not a consult or a meeting, but an actual heart-to-heart. And a child deserved better than to be a filler of a void that wasn't even their own. They deserved more than to be a bandage for another's wound. A child's job was not to be the glue that held her pieces together.

She missed the conversations with him that left her perplexed and angry. She missed the ones that made her want to beat him over his head with his own cane. The ones where she could just flick a switch to "No Reaction" and be done with it. But was that letting him win, getting away with it like that? Was he a child that needed punishment, or had he known the consequences all along? When she didn't react, was she letting him walk off with that smug grin because he knew that deep down it affected her, and that it hurt like all hell to keep it bottled up? Because he knew that she wouldn't explode, no matter how hard he pushed? Did he want her angry or flustered or sad or joyful? Or, did he just not care? Did he _need_ a motive?

Yes.

**And how would I explain?  
****How would I explain this to my children if I had them?  
****Because I can't not, because I can't not.  
****Because I can't afford to be misread one more time.**

She didn't notice the door as it swung open and shut, or the uneven gate of the very man she was thinking about as he crossed the room. She didn't notice until the couch sagged and she jerked her head to the side so fast that she almost suffered whiplash. Delicate hands flew to her face, trying deserpately to rid her cheeks of the wet streaks, but it was no use, she figured, and so she just turned away and muttered an almost incoherent "Go away." Because she didn't expect him to apologise. Because once it was out, it was out. That was always what he lived by, his motto. Wasn't it? She didn't want to find his ulterior motives; she just wanted him out. She didn't want to live like this anymore; put on a pedestal or ignored, she was tired of being on center-stage. Someone else could have the spotlight. For once, she wished that everything would just keep moving. Why did he have to hold on so tight? Why did _she_?

Neither moved. He just watched her pretendinding not to watch him, and suddenly he felt a surge of something rise in his chest. It knotted up inside him and he found himself wondering what was making him feel this way. The burrito he had had for lunch? The tears had dried on her cheeks, but suddenly the reappearance of House brought a new surge of the hot, salty mess and she found herself whimpering inwardly and wishing she didn't feel so bad that she was letting herself be open. Because if she stopped feeling vulnerable and open, she could start feeling trust and compassion. But not to him. Not to the man who made her this way. And suddenly she felt a surge of raw fury rise back, gaining power of her speech and actions. She wanted to verbally abuse him; wished he wasn't so hard to hurt.

"Get out," she said icily, her voice stronger, though it still cracked with weakness.

"No," he replied idly, matching her venemous gaze with his own emotionless stare. He could read her now. The oceany green eyes always told him everything. The hate, the sorrow, the fear. Oh God, he had put that all there. And suddenly he didn't know what he was saying, and oddly enough, he didn't care. "I'm sorry, Lisa."

And she almost choked on her own sobs.

She shook her head.

"No, no you're not. And that's okay. I don't want an apology." She wanted someone to lean on, someone to take the hit for her, once. But she dare not confide that in him; that was a step too far.

**Would it be whining if I said I needed a hug?  
****Would you feel slighted if I said your love's not enough?  
****And how can I complain?  
****And how can I complain when I'm the one who reaches for it?**

He looked at her then, the sincerity written in his eyes. And it was ironic, because the one time he wanted to sincerely apologise, she didn't want to hear it. She didn't want words, because words wouldn't soothe the acheing, bleeding void that he had opened up in her. But maybe, just maybe, that void had needed to be opened. She had needed to see the error of her ways. Who was it that said actions speak louder than words? Maybe they were on to something there. She smiled humorlessly and shook her head again at his incredulous stare. She just wanted a hug, a reassuring touch; something that words couldn't do. Just something that would tell her that everything was going to be okay, and mean it.

"I don't want to do this anymore," she said, her voice a broken whisper. Her knuckles turned white with the intensity of her grip on the poor sofa cushion.

"You don't have to," he replied, his voice oddly gentle and soothing. She laughed hollowly, something he right away wished he'd never have to hear again; normally her smile and her laugh lit up a room, but now they were hindering her happiness. He reached out to touch her then, and she tensed as his fingers met her arm. As if broken out of a daze, her eyes snapped open and flew wildly down to where his hand was sending tingles of heat through her cold skin. It took her a minute (she had not been touched for a while), but eventually she relaxed enough to look away. She was not used to being physically reassured, he noted. The Dean was always in charge, not a follower.

"If only it were that easy," she pressed.

"It is," he countered. She pursed her lips.

"How?" she asked, hoping desperately that he had the answer. This was the first breakdown she had had in a long, long time; coming to all these realizations of things she couldn't do was not easy. She was long overdue for one.

**Because I can't not, because I can't not.  
****Because I cannot walk without my crutches.  
****Because I can't not, because I can't not.  
****Because I can't help wonder why you ask me.**

"What do you want, Lisa? It's as simple as that."

What was she supposed to say? The one thing she wanted most of all was the one thing she couldn't have, she figured. Suddenly the white picket-fence dream was far behind what she really wanted. Him. She wanted him. She had always wanted him, and though the knowledge eluded her, he was equally head over heels for her. Love is a cruel game of lies and intelligence; like chess, I suppose. You have to sacrifice to win it.

"But it's not simple. And it's not fair. But I don't want to lie to myself anymore."

And for the first time since he had entered her sanctuary, she met his eyes; searching desperately for the words of wisdom he would normally speak, but none came. Just a reassuuring squeesze on her arm, and she realized that that was all she needed.

**To all the unheard wisdom in the schoolyard.  
****You think you're the right ones, you think you're the charmed ones I'm sure.  
****But how can you go on with such conviction?  
****And who do you think you are, why do you question me?**

Neither spoke for a while, and subsequently neither cared. She somehow found herself in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, his arm around her waist and across the small of her back, stroking her as she unabashedly cried her eyes out into his shoulder. It felt better to cry with someone to hold you, she realized, and she wished she never had to leave his reassuring grip. It was like a homecoming, being in his arms, and vaguely she wondered if he noticed how well she fit there, her body warm against his and her face resting in the crook of his neck.

She openly trembled, now, the intensity of this situation creeping up on her and sagging on her shoulders, making her battered body ache with tension and weariness. He wasn't surprised when her breaths became slow and even, and she leaned more against him, falling into a troubled sleep as she muttered unintelligibly under her breath. And he smiled one last time before pulling himself fully onto the couch and cradling Lisa in the crook of his arm, letting her lay fully on top of him. Maybe not a giant leap, but it was definitely a step in the right direction.

**Because we can't not, because we can't not.  
****Because we can't help laugh at underestimations.  
****Because we can't not, because we can't not.  
****Because we can't afford to be misled one more time.  
****Because we can't not, because we can't not.  
****Because he can't help you without your willingness.**


End file.
